Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 3.djvu/172

Where every hue that charmed before
The blackness of my bosom wore.
The rest thou dost already know, 1200
And all my sins, and half my woe.
But talk no more of penitence;
Thou seest I soon shall part from hence:
And if thy holy tale were true,
The deed that's done canst thou undo?
Think me not thankless—but this grief
Looks not to priesthood for relief.^{[lower-roman 1][decimal 1]}
My soul's estate in secret guess:
But wouldst thou pity more, say less.
When thou canst bid my Leila live, 1210
Then will I sue thee to forgive;
Then plead my cause in that high place
Where purchased masses proffer grace.^{[lower-roman 2]}
Go, when the hunter's hand hath wrung
From forest-cave her shrieking young,
And calm the lonely lioness:
But soothe not—mock not my distress!

"In earlier days, and calmer hours,
When heart with heart delights to blend,
Where bloom my native valley's bowers,^{[lower-roman 3]} 1220
I had—Ah! have I now?—a friend!^{[lower-roman 4]}

Variants

1. ———but this grief
   In truth is not for thy relief.
   My state thy thought can never guess.—[MS.]
2. Where thou, it seems, canst offer grace.—[MS. erased.]
3. Where rise my native city's towers.—[MS.]
4. I had, and though but one—a friend!—[MS.]

Notes

1. The monk's sermon is omitted. It seems to have had so little effect upon the patient, that it could have no hopes from the reader. It may be sufficient to say that it was of a customary length (as may be perceived from the interruptions and uneasiness of the patient), and was delivered in the usual tone of all orthodox preachers.